


How to Weave a Fishing Net

by Ruis



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, La Groac'h de l'Île du Lok | The Groac'h of the Isle of Lok (Fairy Tale)
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Marriage, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/pseuds/Ruis
Summary: You start by choosing the right string. Make it hard: no simple rope is good enough for the kind of fish you want to catch. Make it flexible: you want it to bend, not break when your prey struggles. (And struggle it will.) Make it alluring: in the end, only the strands of your very own hair can turn into the steel that will hold the net’s magic. You are steel, at least in your dreams.
Relationships: La Groac'h/Korandon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10
Collections: Once Upon a Fic 2020





	How to Weave a Fishing Net

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad/gifts).



_You start by choosing the right string. Make it hard: no simple rope is good enough for the kind of fish you want to catch. Make it flexible: you want it to bend, not break when your prey struggles. (And struggle it will.) Make it alluring: in the end, only the strands of your very own hair can turn into the steel that will hold the net’s magic. You are steel, at least in your dreams._

Korandon had taught her well. The first net, the one lost in the depths of the lake but never quite forgotten, they had begun to weave together on the night they first went out together. She had been more naïve then and very much in love, had had no idea what her future husband was planning. It had been a clear starry night like in a fairy tale and she had felt very daring, meeting her young man alone, unchaperoned. They had brought a blanket and sat near the fish pond of his garden, watching the sparkle of the stars and the even brighter sparkle of all the fish in the pond. Not wanting the evening to end, she had immediately agreed when Korandon had offered to show her something beautiful, wonderful, magical. It had not turned out in quite the way she had been expecting… 

_Have your shuttle and your gauge at hand. They are your most important tools, so you must always keep them close. They hold your memories. They hold your dreams. They will channel all your intent into your craft._

But that was all for the better. She had slapped him when he had begun cutting locks from her hair, but had caught on quickly: her hair would grow back. Her net was forever. She had learned a lot that fateful night, learned more than any other young bride, had become more than she had been before. All her gained wisdom went into her work now, and she could proudly say she had surpassed her teacher by far. She had learned how to weave the best of nets. She had also learned even before the marriage ceremony that Korandon would not be a good husband for her. (She had never found out whose bone the shuttle was made of, but sometimes in her darker hours, she could admit that much to herself, she was jealous: the unknown woman must have been special to Korandon in a way she herself never had been.) Sometimes, in nights like this, she missed him anyway.

_The first knot sets the course of your spell. Tell the strands what you want them to do, and if you touch them just right, they will obey. Watch the fish. Memorize the way they jump. That way, you will know how to tie the net that will catch them, the right knot for the task. And you want to catch them. Are they not beautiful?_

Ah, fond memories. She smiled when she thought of Korandon’s skillful hands, talented fingers so good at tying knots. (And untying them, as she had learned later.) She had been wearing a glorious dress on the day of her first wedding, all shimmering silver silk, held together by a net of steel grey strands. (Oblivious to statements of fashion, Korandon had never caught on, not until it had been much too late for him.) She had enjoyed her new husband helping her out of her dress in her wedding night. That was, perhaps, the one thing husbands were good for, besides decorating the garden pond. She liked having husbands the way Korandon had liked having wives. You could never have enough husbands.

_Sit and weave, morning and evening, day and night. It is not possible to shorten this step, nor does it get easier with time. Each loop is as hard as the one before. (They all look the same in the end, but you know they are not.) But do not worry, dear: you will not be bored. How could your dreams ever become boring? Watch the net grow and rejoice. Think of the fish you will catch._

In the weeks of her betrothal, she had been working furiously, strand after strand, loop after loop, mesh after mesh. Under her hands, her own web had grown to something wondrous, fine meshes to catch a fine husband with. Walking to the altar with short hair did not bother her in the least. When Korandon asked what she was doing all the time, and why could they not marry immediately, she answered entirely truthfully: she was still working on her wedding dress. She loved him, and he had never outright lied to her after all. (And he had shown her how to weave a net; she did not know why but she was grateful.) He deserved the truth at least.

_Tie your loose ends. The steely net already shines in the sun, every loop reflecting the light like the scale of a fish, but it is not finished until the last knot is in place. You do not want your net to unravel in an inopportune moment. You do not want your prey to get away in the last second. (Oh, it will struggle so much!) The last knot has to be firm, tied with a sure hand. You will not get this right on your first try, so you will need some practice. Here, let me show you._

Where was the net hidden? She had known he would not strike until they were properly married, yet all the time, she was wondering. When her father led her across the aisle with young girls throwing flowers and musicians playing hidden in the shadows of the church, she was too distracted to even see the sparkling fish scales among the confetti. (She had noticed them later when wiping them off her dress: a nice touch, she thought.) When she was speaking the holy vows, she discreetly looked her new husband over from the corner of her eye. Was his waist thicker than usual? Were his shoes a size too big? Men, she thought, shaking her head. He had concealed his net well, she would give him that. She had never bothered to hide hers. (But she had been faster.) He had walked into her trap seeingly, just like all those after him.

_Now you are ready to catch your first fish. And more. And then even more. See how they sparkle when they jump into the air, playing together? Move the net in an arc over your head just like that, dear, move it swiftly and you will find that our garden pond has always room for another fish._

Such a beautiful man! Her newest husband-to-be already sat in her kitchen, almost caught. (Almost?) He was hers already, had agreed to marry her without any second thought, for how could any girl he might have had at home ever compare to her beauty and riches? They would marry, and he would be with her forever, as it should be in a good marriage, or so she had always heard. He would get along splendidly with the other husbands. Dreamily, she thought of how beautiful her husband would look tonight. (What color would his scales turn out to be?) She was sure he would make a wonderful husband, unlike her Korandon.

_Have no regrets._

The last step was the hardest. Had Korandon been keeping his own advice or had he ever regretted one of his wives? Would he have regretted her own fate? She would perhaps never know. (She did not want to know, but acknowledging that, even to herself, simply hurt too much.) She had waited almost too long, had at least wanted the marriage to be consummated before she picked up her discarded dress and truly caught her man. (He had untied many knots, but not the ones that counted.) Even when she caught a flash of his own net, she had hesitated the fraction of a second, a moment of weakness she had allowed herself. She could not hate her husband. All the other men went into the pond, but not Korandon. Never her Korandon. And maybe, one day, she would allow the stone eggs to hatch. She would like to see her husband again, the first and only.


End file.
